Fakiru Week 2013
by Diabolical Kitsutora
Summary: A collection of seven prompts for Fakiru Weeks 2013 list. Yellow Mistake Modern Balance Cloth Senses Trust
1. Yellow

YELLOW-

Ahiru was nervous.

It had been so long since she had last danced ballet, and it was the first time she would be dancing in a class filled with all normal humans instead of a mix of animals and humans. This new (well, the original teacher, but she was new to Ahiru,) teacher had an odd way of choosing partners. She held out a big brown box and told them it was filled with different colored ribbons. She explained that the beginning class members would choose from the box she held, and their potential partners would choose from the box upstairs on the balcony.

When it was her turn, Ahiru shakily placed her hand in the box, thoughts running rampant through her mind.

The box shook, causing Ahiru to eep.

The teacher laughed, "don't be so nervous, no matter who your partner is, I guarantee you they will be kind and lead you right."

Nodding, she stuck her hand back in and pulled out a soft yellow colored ribbon.

"That's everyone," called the teacher, a giant smile on her face, "now I want everyone to pair up with the person holding the same colored ribbon."

The students all murmured their understanding and waited for the advanced students to walk down into the practice room. Ahiru's thoughts went off on a tangent again. What if she was paired with someone she didn't know, or worse, what if she knew them but they didn't know her and she created an awkward situation by saying their name—

"Hey," there was a tap on her shoulder the same moment the words were spoken, "idiot, don't be so nervous."

All the tension drained as she turned and there in Fakir's hand was a soft, yellow colored ribbon. A smile lit her face in realization.

"We're partners!"

He chuckled and nodded, "yeah, I had to convince a few others to trade with me." A hint of red colored both their cheeks.

"I'm glad it worked out," she admitted, "I wanted to dance with you."

Smiling gently, Fakir tied his ribbon gently around her neck. Taking the tie from his hair, he let it fall loose before taking the ribbon from her hand and using it to tie back his hair once more. The bow he created shimmered softly against his dark colored hair, and Ahiru thought that perhaps yellow suited him.

Creating the customary mime for 'will you dance with me,' Fakir held his pose, smiling, his eyes warm and inviting. Smiling her own smile, she took his hand, their yellow ribbons catching the light as they moved instinctively together.


	2. Mistake

MISTAKE-

Ahiru sighed, all but dragging her bag on the ground as she walked home. She had done it again; she'd mixed up patient charts, sent blood and urine samples to the wrong places, and even forgot to give a patient a glass of water they had requested. Understandably her boss had yelled at her and after her shift was over, she left, her head hung low in dejection. Perhaps she had made a mistake in becoming a nurse.

~E~L~S~E~W~H~E~R~E~

Fakir scuffed his show on the sidewalk, glaring in irritation at the ground. He didn't really understand. Sure he prepared food a little differently than other head chefs, but he had studied with the best, and he knew their way was more proficient and cost effective. So why was he yelled at for it? Why did the restaurant _want_ to waste food, time, and money? Perhaps becoming a chef had been a mistake.

Perhaps he should have gone into mechanics like his adoptive father suggested. Sighing, he took a deep breath and pushed the thoughts away, steeling his posture.

~T~W~O~WEEKS~L~A~T~E~R~

No matter how hard he tried to conform, it went against everything Fakir knew, and by the weekend he had quit. He was able to quickly find another job, however, and at a place that greatly appreciated his skills. He wasn't paid nearly as much as before, but at least he could use his skills to help them save money. And his food was so good customers came in droves to sample his fine cuisine.

As good as he was he was not immune to accidents. A new waitress who fluttered about with nervous jitters bumped into another chef who in turn bumped into Fakir who was working the grill.

Needless to say, he had to go to the hospital to treat the burns. His wait in the emergency room was excruciating but short lived. Though most of the doctors and nurses ignored him (he hadn't been labeled as a high priority patient, or so he was told,) but a kind red-headed nurse quickly came over with ointment and bandages. She worked quickly and silently, almost as if she was going against a direct order.

Fakir was surprised with how gentle and efficient she was, and though her hands were warm, they were soothing against his burnt ones. It could have been the ointment. Or it could have been her smile.

"I would suggest sticking around to make sure your hands aren't infected—" she was about to continue but another nurse called out to her; 'Ahiru!' he thought he heard.

Her eyes grew wide and she turned to the voice, answering that she would be right there. Turning back to him, she smiled kindly.

"I'm sorry I can't do more for you. I really hope your hands heal properly and quickly." And before he could confirm her name or give his own she was off down the hall, chasing a stretcher with a clipboard in her hands.

Fakir stayed an hour more, saw the doctor who told him that his hands were clear of infection and made sure to remind him to change the bandages twice a day to avoid getting one. Before the young man left, the doctor told him to come back if the pain persisted or increased. Offering his thanks, he left, his mind wandering to the little red-headed nurse who had helped him.

Oddly, he wondered if he'd ever see her again.

~A~H~I~R~U~A WEEK~L~A~T~E~R~

Slumping against the break room chair, Ahiru breathed in deeply; the ER was as hectic as ever.

And it wasn't even a full moon!

Breathing in deeply once more, she slouched in the cushioned chair, balancing her elbows on her knees and resting her head in her hands. Her thoughts went to the young man with the burnt hands she had helped the week before. Her cheeks flushed; his eyes were sharp and piercing from afar, but when she bandaged his hands… she saw the vulnerability and shock. His expression took her breath away and she felt it might have been a bad idea to look, let alone smile.

But it wasn't in her to not smile, and the resulting color in his cheeks made her breath catch. She was intensely grateful when Pique called out to her for assistance. After all, it wouldn't do to make a scene in front of a patient. And she would have done just that had she stayed a moment longer than she had.

"Ahiru, I thought you clocked out already. Why are you still here?"

Her boss, Kraehe, was a stern lady who held little appreciation for anyone but her favorites, but she still played nice.

"Just deciding what to do for dinner," she answered.

Kraehe grabbed the pot of coffee and filled the mug in her hands, "can't think and walk at the same time?" She didn't give her a chance to reply before she left.

Rolling her eyes with a sigh, she got up, grabbed her bag and decided on "The Golden Crown" that Pique had been raving about. Perhaps good food at an affordable price would distract her from the mistakes in life she had made.

Her mind made up, she boot scooted out of the hospital, making her way quickly downtown.

~T~E~N~MINUTES~L~A~T~E~R~

Unsure of what to make of her waitress, Lillie, Ahiru quickly ordered a grilled chicken and veggie salad, wanting to get in and out before the pig-tailed blond could question her more on her tragic love life.

She didn't even know how Lillie knew the things she did.

Luckily her food came out quickly and Lillie was forced to gossip with someone else, apparently how Ahiru was going to choke on her meal and someone was going to have to help her.

Everything disappeared however as she took a bite of her salad. It was a burst of flavor! She sampled the greens, then the veggies, the chicken… everything had a top notch and fresh flavor. Seeing the look of ecstasy on her face, Lillie walked over again.

"So how is it?" She asked once she had swallowed her current bite.

"It is absolutely the best! My compliments to whoever had a hand in making it." She took another bite, "honestly, I've never had something so delicious."

She missed the devilish look on the blonds face, "the chef will be most pleased." Quietly, she snuck off, Ahiru not even noticing, engrossed as she was with her meal.

When she was done she heard, "this is the young lady who _adored_ your cooking."

Blinking, she looked up, her eyes widening and her lips sputtering, "You!" the same time the dark haired chef exclaimed the same word.

Lillie went to hide in a nearby booth to watch the events unfold. She knew she had been right when Pique told her about their meeting. Giggling in a conspiratory manner, she thought perhaps some mistakes were meant to be made.


	3. Modern

MODERN-

Autor stepped back and appraised his latest works of genius. His androids were perfect in every way, their beauty stunned even him. The lifeless droids stood before him, ready to be turned on, ready to completely their tasks perfectly.

The two, he mused, seemed like an unlikely pair, for even when shut down the male had a somewhat sharp and dour expression. The second, a female, had an altogether relaxed visage; her face not contorted in a grimace nor was it lit with happiness. Her face was of blissful slumber.

Perfect, absolutely perfect, and he would prove it the moment he booted them up. The results were not ones he had expected, however. Booted up, the male was as dour faced as ever and the female had such an innocent curiosity on her face Autor slapped his forehead.

These were not the straight faced drones he had created.

Then he stood back for a moment and really looked at his newest creations. Did he really want straight faced droids? He wanted his droids to be cutting edge and modern, wonderful and new.

No, he decided, straight-faced androids were now the past. All that need be done now was activate their names… which they chose on their own. With barely contained excitement, Autor activated the program to see what they would choose for themselves.

Once the program had taken affect, the females eyes lit up, but not in a mechanical way. Her expression was distinctly human and her voice was as smooth as it was high in octave.

"Hello, my name is Ahiru, is there anything I can do?"

Before Autor could react, the male's program kicked in, "I am Fakir, do you require help?"

Autor stared; a duck and a priest? They named themselves… and the cultures weren't even… Autor slapped his forehead again, repeating the action four or five times. He didn't understand the female's choice in name, but he was absolutely stunned by the male's choice.

Sighing, Autor turned and shook his head, "perhaps it was _too_ modern for a self-naming program."

Turning once more to look at his creations, he couldn't help a satisfied smile. They may not be what he had intended, but they were unique, and they were a success.


	4. Balance

BALANCE-

When turning her head sideways didn't help her understand the painting, she tried looking at it while upside down. Even though she looked ridiculous, she was determined to understand the chaos of the painting. The rest of her class had long since moved on, almost bored with the abstract. She found it interesting, but confusing as well.

After fifteen minutes of studying the painting every which way she could think of, she sighed in defeat and moved on, bypassing many works of art to catch up with her class. Maybe art aesthetics just wasn't her thing.

Ahiru's class ended up spending four hours at the art museum, and by one in the afternoon, they were back at the Academy, just in time for their last two classes. She didn't take too many classes so she had a free period and then ballet class. Once the bell chimed to signal the students to go to their next class, the redhead made her way to the changing rooms, her mind still stuck on the abstract painting.

Why was it considered art, and how could the teacher tell it was balanced? It looked completely out of whack, (much of the gallery did).

So lost in thought, the young duck-girl changed automatically, her eyes glued to the floor, her mind visualizing the paintings. Slipping her leotard over her body, she sighed once more. It may have been a good idea to ask the teacher about it before she left. With a growing sense of defeat, she walked out of the changing room and into the barre room. Paintings didn't make sense, but dancing did. Without hesitation she went to the barre, other students now arriving to change. Holding onto the barre for support, she began the warm up routines.

She knew by the way he said her name that Fakir knew something was upsetting her.

"Ahiru," she tensed for a second before turning, "what's wrong."

There was no point in hiding it; the worried gaze told her that much. "Art."

Brows knitting together, Fakir frowned deeply, "art?" he mimed, "and what do you have against art?" It wasn't an accusing question, merely curious.

Scrunching her brows and frowning, she scratched her head, "well, it doesn't make sense. The teacher went on about balance and space and all this other stuff, but none of what we looked at had any of it! The paintings were crowded and lop-sided, and some even had a person's eye where the mouth should have been! How is that balanced?"

An expression of understanding crossed his face, and as it did he held out his hand, "I think I can help."

Once she took his hand, he pulled her towards his body and slowly leaned her back over his arm, "you agree that we are balanced?"

"Yes."

"Alone, you couldn't hold this pose indefinitely."

"No."

"Apart we have no balance but together we support each other. Those paintings are the same." He gently guided her into a lift, "we have balance here as well. Your form and my stance create a balanced posture and an appealing picture." Setting her down, he knelt and guided her form so it leaned in towards him, her left leg lifting and her arms winding around his neck, "to every art piece there is form, space, shape, _balance. _In order to achieve it, one has a lot to consider: Negative and positive space, color, perspective. Think about the painting with the messed up face, for every surprising placement, did it not have something to balance it out? A shape or maybe a color?"

Thinking hard about it, Ahiru realized there was, "yeah, the whole face was still there, it was just switched around." Her face contorted in thought, so even though it was like that it was still balanced?"

"Yes. What others did you see?"

"Black and white paintings with circles, triangles, and squares. Oh, there was a painting that looked like someone just dumped paint on it, but it was still pretty, in a way."

"The first used positive and negative space and the second used complementary and secondary colors to create unity and balance."

A thoughtful expression crossed her face and after a minute she smiled, "thanks, I think I understand it a bit more. You sure know a lot about art, Fakir."

Chucking, he stood them both upright then went to the barre, "I took the same class last semester. It took some time, but it really isn't difficult to understand the art of balance."

Smiling in return, Ahiru held onto the barre once more, "yeah, you're right."

Unfortunately for Ahiru, the balance and imbalances of art were still a bit of a mystery. However, the balance required in ballet was definitely improving, day by day with Fakir's help.


	5. Cloth

CLOTH-

Relaxation was a word Fakir had nearly forgotten since the start of the war. No one relaxed; one either fought or tended to the wounded, and the kingdom's Princess was no exception despite her parents' wishes. The young red-headed Princess helped where she could, bandaging and administering medicine and spreading hope.

So on a beautiful, sun shining day, with the war at a brief standstill, she had insisted they sneak out of the castle to a nearby hill to enjoy it. Fakir was happy to see her joyous, so he relented to her request. Watching his Princess move about under the sun, the meadow on the hill surrounding her and the breeze catching her hair and dress, billowing the cloth about her ankles, he felt a sense of peace he hadn't since the war had begun. The scene really exposed how truly beautiful she was in appearance. His mind briefly flashed to the way she helped gently wrap cloth bandages around wounds. She was beautiful, inside and out, and he was proud, honored to have ever fallen in love with her.

Laughing innocently, she reached her hands out in invitation, asking him to join her frolicking about in the meadows. The half-smile as he reached for her was cut short as her expression changed from serene to panic. His name fell from her lips in a shrill scream of fear.

"_Fakir!"_ He acknowledged she had said something else, but his senses dulled.

His eyes were wide in shock. Bringing his hand up to his left side, below his third rib, he was confused to see blood. Again he looked up, his eyes registering the billowing fabric of her dress as she ran towards him, tears in her eyes.

Then his world went black.

He would wake hours later. His torso covered in bandages, her exhausted and bloody form sitting next to his head with her upper body resting on the bed. It took him only a minute to realize the cloth covering his wound was the tattered remains of her dress.


	6. Senses

SENSE-

All was black; there was neither sense of self nor a sense of environment. There was nothing, the world completely blank. But something changed; her programming was triggered and her gears began to hum with life. The feeling of a soft vibration from all the gears was the first sense given to her, and when she opened her eyes, and her ears registered sound before anything else.

"Hello! My name is Ahiru. Is there anything I can do to help you?" All the new sensations enraptured her and when her sight finally registered her attention was soon caught by all the different objects in the room.

Fakir was next; sound was the first sense he registered. He heard Ahiru's voice, then he heard his own, gruff and humorless. "I am Fakir, do you require help?" He had a sense that his nature had not been what their creator was going for, but however seemed pleased.

Ahiru took a moment to take it all in; the world had started as nothing, not even a blank slate. It had been utterly nothing, and now her world was alive. She could see the wonderful colors, feel the strange textures of her clothes and skin, smell the fragrances of the sterile laboratory, hear the sounds of her own working body and of the world around her, and she could even taste the saltiness of the air as it blew in from the sea as it wafted in through an open window.

It was all so beautiful and overwhelming for the both of them, though Ahiru found that her senses compelled her to explore more than Fakir's did.

After they had been functioning for a few hours, Autor tried to teach her chess, (apparently her programming for it crashed,) but she wouldn't pay attention. Her gaze, instead, was on her partner android, Fakir, who stood at a span of counter, riffling through papers. He was mostly silent and gruff, but her senses told her that he was important to her, and they had yet to lie to her.


	7. Trust

TRUST-

Charon breathed a sigh of despair; his heart broke every time his little nephew flinched. Charon's sister, the boy's mother, died in an accident with the boy's father, but instead of the child being legally rendered into his care, he was taken away and put into foster care.

The man and his wife, who had abused Fakir, spoke untrue and damaging words to break and punish him. Charon fought to right the wrong that had been done, to bring his nephew, who he had considered a son, back home where he belonged. It took too much time and a lot of effort, but he finally got Rue and Mytho from Child Services interested in the case.

Once they got involved, Fakir was quickly rescued and Drosselmeyer and Kraehe were on the run. But there were still several problems. The boy was malnourished and fragile, several bones brittle from being broken and not properly healing. And that wasn't even considering his fear of people.

Fakir no longer trusted anyone, the lie Drosselmeyer and Kraehe spoke to him damaging that part of his psyche, and they all feared that he would never trust again.

Charon worked with him on the problem as much as he could, spent the time and money he no longer had on therapy. Eventually Charon was told there was nothing else he could do, that he should let Fakir go wherever it was he would go. He despaired; losing all hope his adopted son would ever feel safe or happy.

Then things changed.

A long-time friend of Charon's stopped in for a quick visit. She and her husband were going to take a romantic trip, and Raetsel wanted Charon to look in after hers and Hans' daughter, Ahiru. He knew the little red-headed girl and she was a ball of sunshine. The house had grown gray with his depression and Fakir's fear so he figured her influence would be good for them.

Little did he know how good her influence would be, not just for him, but for Fakir as well. The boy had been hiding out behind the kitchen table leg, (where he often was when he went to "steal" food,) when Raetsel and Hans arrived with Ahiru. As usual, the girl was brimming with energy and smiling as if she'd been given the duck she'd wanted as a pet since she was three.

She greeted Charon happily, Fakir escaping her immediate notice. For a moment she chattered at him, telling him about the trip to his house. When she giggled rather loudly and happily about staying with him, Fakir gave himself away with a startled and horrified gasp.

Hearing the noise, her eyes immediately locked onto the source. Of course, the moment she spotted the green-haired boy it didn't matter if he uttered the noise. All that mattered was that there was another kid her age. Naturally she thought he was no different, thus greeted him as she did everyone else.

Running up to him, she threw her hand up in the air in greeting, her words flowing from her lips like chimes, "hi, my name is Ahiru—"

The moment her hand went up, Fakir covered his face with his arms, a fearful cry escaping his agape mouth. "Don't come near me!" he yelled, pushing the little red-head the moment she was within arms reach.

Uttering a surprised cry, Ahiru fell back on her bottom, rolling back slightly before straightening. It took her a moment to understand what had happened, but when it got through, tears filled her eyes.

"Y-you didn't have to be so mean!" she cried, wiping at her eyes to stop the tears.

Fakir retreated, shivering as he held onto the table leg, "you were gonna hurt me!" he yelled insistently at her.

Still in the doorway, Charon, Raetsel, and Hans exchanged worried looks.

Sniffling, Ahiru finally succeeded in drying her tears, "don't be silly," she began, "I was just s-saying 'hi.'"

"But you had your hand up, you were gonna hit me." He countered; three and a half years of abuse had schooled him in what a raised hand meant.

"No I wasn't!"

"Liar!" Fakir cried.

"Am not!" Ahiru yelled back, "Haven't you ever said 'hi' to someone? You wave your hand in the air then say 'hi.'"

The boy was weary at that point; ready to run at the first sign she would act on her true intent. Yet he couldn't make himself react immediately; he was curious.

"That's not how you greet people…" he muttered this, but in truth, he didn't know exactly how to greet someone, he never learned. Was he supposed to?

Sighing dramatically, Ahiru shifted so she was kneeling then fanned out her legs so her bottom was on the floor. "I'm not gonna hit you, you know. So stop looking at me like that."

The look (a childish glare) intensified, "how can I trust what you say?"

Ahiru was only four years old, so she didn't know a lot, but she did know things. Trust was not a word or concept she was familiar with.

"What's a trust?" she inquired.

"Idiot!" he admonished, "it's not a thing, it's… it's… it tells you who are good people and who are bad!"

"Good and bad?" she mimed, "so like mommy and daddy, they are trust?"

"No, no, no, they aren't trust, you can trust them. You know they won't hurt you" He also could have said she could trust in the consequences to certain actions (such as the hand raising) but he was fairly sure she wouldn't understand.

Regardless, she thought on his words, then after a while, smiled brightly, as if she'd been given the news that her parents were coming home with a duck, "okay, you can trust me."

"You can't just tell someone to trust you!" he yelled, his little face turning red in irritation and embarrassment by his inability to make her understand.

"Why not," she pouted.

"'Cause… 'cause I don't know you!" and somehow, that was the most terrifying part.

Blinking a few times, she cocked her head in confusion, "so? I trust you." She said in her defense.

Fakir was taken aback, "idiot, you shouldn't trust so easily!"

"Why not?"

"That's how—" his voice started to rise but he stopped and spoke normally, "that's when everyone turns on you and hurts you."

Her brows furrowed in confusion, "huh? That's not true!"

"Yes it is!"

"Uncle hasn't hurt you." If he could yell like he did, he had to be healthy, so Uncle was definitely taking care of him.

"Uncle?"

"Uncle Charon. He doesn't hurt you, right? Or else he'd make this face," the face she made was rather comical, a mixture of pain, confusion, and something else. "He doesn't look like he's mad at you," she had turned at that point and looked at Charon to confirm her words. The older man had a sad smile on his face, and at that moment Fakir realized that he had never raised a hand against him.

"I don't know why you think Uncle is mad at you. He looks sad." When she returned her gaze to the young raven-haired lad, she frowned, "you look really sad too." But the smile was back quickly, "I know! I'll give you a hug! Hugs always make me happy!"

Figuring she should take it slow, she raised both her arms, a giant smile on her petite face. When he didn't flinch, she leaned forward. In reaction, he shifted back, but she was determined. Shifting up onto her knees, she inched forward, her arms reaching to surround him but not crowd. Whether it was curiosity or fear, the boy was rooted to his spot. The redhead came closer and closer; he could feel the heat of her arms near his shoulders. She was warm but it was not an uncomfortable warmth, he realized when she finally wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned into his little body.

He was stiff and unresponsive, but he at least wasn't pushing her away. That in itself Fakir thought was a miracle, but what was more—what her hug reminded him of; Charon. Fakir remembered that Charon had often hugged him; when he was scared, when he had bad dreams, and when someone or something upset him. Of course after a minute he'd struggled and scream and Charon would immediately let go. And every time he looked up, he always had the same sad look.

How had he seen it as angry?

He felt a gentle shake near his throat, "it's okay to hug back, you know."

Fakir was speechless, his eyes wide.

Looking up at Charon, he saw that same smile, but it was different. It didn't seem as sad, especially when he nodded his head in gesture to hug the girl back.

He did so hesitantly, his mind working around everything he had taken in. When it had finally sunk in, he realized that he could have put his trust in Charon. When that realization struck him a dam broke in Fakir that he hadn't even known he had built. Not only had he isolated himself, but Charon as well. When Ahiru finally let go, Fakir did as well; not just his grip, but his emotions as well.

The tears flowing down the raven-haired boys cheeks surprised Ahiru, though she was less surprised when the boy ran to Charon, hugging his leg and sobbing that he was sorry. Smiling tearfully, Charon picked up his nephew, his adopted son, and told him everything would be alright.

Ahiru didn't understand everything that was going on, but she figured the boy must have figured out that he could trust Charon.

Whatever trust meant.


End file.
